Happy Accidents
by SpyKate
Summary: Sarkney, sometime beyond the end of S3. "I think of what happened between us as a happy accident," he brought a hand to her cheek, turned her face to his own. "Sydney, love, I'd like to believe you think of it that way, too." COMPLETE.
1. Default Chapter

The package arrived just before eight.

The knock on the door startled Sydney as she stood at the bathroom sink, washing her face. Glancing at her reflection in the mirror, she attempted to swallow a rush of panic. I If it's bad news, someone would call first, right/i She grabbed a towel and dried her skin, drawing in a deep, calming breath.

"Coming," Sydney called, breezing through the bedroom on her way to the front hall, retying the sash on her satin robe. After peering through the peephole, she unlocked and opened the front door.

"Hey there," the delivery man smiled, a wad of gum in his cheek. "Got a package for ya," he winked.

Relieved, Sydney smiled. "Thanks," she held out her hands expectantly.

The driver paused, looked her from head to toe and then placed the plain brown box into her hands, setting his clipboard on top.

"Just need your John Hancock on line twelve, sweetheart," he held out a pen, loudly chewing his gum and still grinning broadly.

"Are you always this cheery so early in the morning?" Sydney took the pen from his outstretched hand.

"Sure!" The delivery man boomed. "I'm always happy to deliver packages to beautiful women such as yourself," he accepted the clipboard as she handed it back, his eyes quickly darting to line twelve. "Thanks, Sydney."

"Thank you," Sydney nodded, backing into the apartment with the package under her arm. She reached to close the door.

"Hey," the delivery man took a step toward her. "You wanna get a drink sometime? With me?"

Sydney smiled pleasantly and glanced at the name sewn into the man's dark denim shirt.

"I'm flattered you asked, Dave, but..."

"Lemme guess," Dave jumped in, his grin fading slightly. "You have a boyfriend, right?"

Sydney nodded. i I'm not sure we've gotten quite that far, but okay /i "Yes, I do."

"Right, okay, got it," Dave took a step back, holding up his hands. "I thought I'd take a shot, though, you know," he tucked his clipboard under his arm. "I bet he's some kind of big shot, like a lawyer or one of those investment banker types, am I right?"

Sydney frowned. i Actually, Dave, he's a high-ranking assassin with one of the world's most dangerous terrorist organizations and also happens to be number three on the CIA's shoot-to-kill watch list /i "Something like that," she nodded and reached once again for the door. "Well, thanks for the package. I've got to finish getting ready for work."

"No problem there, Sydney," Dave stepped off the porch and gave her a wave. "Have a nice day, now."

"You, too," Sydney watched him walk back to his truck before closing the door. She leaned against it and glanced down at the package in her hands, studying the unfamiliar handwriting on the address label. Out of habit, she lifted the box to her ear and listened. It did not seem to be ticking, or to be making any other sound, for that matter.

Sydney walked into the kitchen and set the box on the counter. She studied the label more closely, noting that the return address was a shop in Paris, France. She had heard of the store but had never gone, and did not recall shopping there via the internet. Turning the box over, she tried to lift an edge of the packing tape with her fingernail just as the telephone began to ring.

"Hello?" Sydney cradled the phone with her shoulder and went back to work on the box.

"Did you check to make sure it wasn't ticking?"

Sydney couldn't help but smile. "What, are you spying on me?"

"I live next door. I certainly wouldn't be hard to do," Weiss reasoned. "Actually, I was outside getting my paper when the delivery guy showed up, but you were too busy flirting with him to notice me."

"I was not flirting with him," Sydney said with a grin. She peeled off a strip of tape and dropped it onto the counter top. Impatient with her progress, she opened a nearby drawer and grabbed a pair of scissors.

"That's not what it looked like from where I was standing."

"I thought you said you weren't spying on me."

"I never said I wasn't spying. I wouldn't be a very good spy if I admitted it, right?"

"So the whole getting the paper thing was just a ruse," Sydney slit the tape at the sides and then across the top of the box, carefully slicing through the address label.

"No, I really was getting my paper - and spying on you, all at the same time. I'm a multi-tasker," Weiss grinned. "So, what'd you order? One of those hard-boiled egg slicer things that they advertise late at night?"

Sydney set aside the scissors and opened the box. She was immediately treated to the aroma of lavender wafting up from many layers of pristine white tissue paper. She carefully sifted through the paper until she came to a small gold and white striped box and lifted it out, spilling tissue paper onto the counter top.

"Syd?"

"Uhm, it's nothing, really," Sydney's brow furrowed as she set the box down. It was elegantly tied with gold ribbon, and a white tag bearing the name of the French shop was attached to an ornate gold bow. "I was just doing some early Christmas shopping."

"Ah," Weiss said. "Just remember, my favorite color is blue and I'm allergic to wool." After being met with silence, Weiss frowned. "Syd? Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine," Sydney gently untied the bow and let the ribbon fall. "I've just got to finish getting ready. I'll see you at work, okay?"

"Sure thing, Syd."

They said their goodbyes and Sydney hung up, setting the phone aside before carefully lifting the lid off of the box. Pushing aside more white tissue, Sydney drew in a sharp breath at the sight of a beautiful glass bottle filled with small, coarse lavender-colored granules. A gold ribbon around the mouth of the bottle bore a tag that again stated the name of the French shop. The other side of the tag described the contents of the bottle.

"_Sels de bain lavende_," Sydney read aloud. "Lavender bath salts." She lifted the bottle out of the box, handling it gently, turning it over in her hands. It was tapered, narrow at the lip and wide at the base. Sydney suspected it was hand-blown and nearly as expensive as the salts it contained.

Sydney ran her fingertips over the corked mouth of the bottle, tempted to split the wax that sealed it and pour some of the salt into her hand. A quick glance at the clock across the room, however, and she knew she would have to wait. Before putting the bottle back into the box, she searched through the tissue paper for a gift card, quickly realizing there wasn't one.

Closing the box, Sydney smiled to herself. There was no need for a gift card.


	2. Chapter 2

The second package arrived just after noon.

The tap on her elbow startled Sydney as she bent over her work station, reviewing an op report. Raising her head, she smiled.

"Marshall."

Marshall Flinkman gave her a friendly nod. "Syd," he said brightly.

They looked at each other for a moment, both smiling until Sydney raised her eyebrows in question.

"Did you need something, Marshall?"

Marshall's face went blank. "What?" He glanced down at the plain brown box in his hands. "Oh! Right, sorry," he grinned, his cheeks coloring. "This package came for you," he held it up, turning it toward her. "There was no return address, except for this store in Paris."

Sydney was immediately on her feet.

"I ran it through the database. It's a legit business, dealing mostly in high end bath and beauty type products for ladies," Marshall cleared his throat. "I was a little uncomfortable at first, but then I thought, hey - maybe I can find a nice gift for Carrie, but everything was so expensive, and French..."

"Thanks, Marshall," Sydney gave him a tight smile and took the box from his hands.

"It's no problem. I ran all the usual tests, the same stuff we do whenever something is delivered here. The box has been x-rayed and scanned for all types of explosives. I used the thermal emission spectrometer and then exposed it to a molecular imaging program I've developed that actually analyzes the contents without disturbing the packaging," Marshall rocked back on his heels, his face beaming with pride. "I'm happy to report that you're in no danger. Unless, of course, you're allergic to saponaceous fluids."

Sydney shifted her gaze from the box in her hands and met Marshall's eyes, her brow knit with confusion.

"Soap," Marshall shrugged. "You've been sent a glass bottle filled with soap."

Sydney watched him walk away before slowly lowering herself into her chair as she set the package on her desk top. Grabbing a pair of scissors and feeling a vague sense of deja vu, Sydney sliced through the tape on the box and opened the package.

Once again the fragrance of lavender filtered through the layers of tissue paper as Sydney dug through to find the smaller box within. It was a duplicate to the one she had received that morning. After untying the bow, Sydney slipped the ribbon free of the box and lifted the lid. Carefully, she extracted the glass bottle and grasped the tag with her fingers.

"_Un bain mousse à la lavende_," she read. "Lavender bubble bath." Holding the bottle up to the light, Sydney admired the pearlescent purple liquid. As she did, she discovered that she couldn't keep herself from smiling.

It was risky, having something delivered to the Ops Center. First of all, no one outside of the field agents and federal officers who worked there was supposed to know it existed. Secondly, every purse, package, briefcase and container of any kind was scanned upon entry into the building. Sending a package to the Joint Task Force facility, no matter how innocuous the contents, was a clever way of making a statement.

"Sark," Sydney sighed, resting her chin in her hand for a moment. The gift that morning was a reminder of what they'd shared. Was this gift, with its high-profile delivery, meant to signify something more?

"Syd, I'm here as a friend," Weiss appeared at her side, reclining against her desk.

Sydney sat up, pulled abruptly from her deep river of thought. "What?"

"The internet shopping," Weiss reached over and grabbed a handful of tissue paper. "It's got to stop. You're clearly out of control," he studied the tissue for a moment before bringing it to his face and taking a long sniff. "This smells great, by the way. What is it?"

"Lavender," Sydney carefully returned the bottle to the gift box, nestling it among the layers of tissue. "I ordered some bubble bath from a shop in Paris."

"You ordered bubble bath _from Paris_?" Weiss asked, incredulous. "What, Beverly Hills didn't offer a wide enough selection?"

Sydney grinned. "As a matter of fact, this bubble bath has sentimental value," she avoided his eyes as she stood, continuing to replace the items in the package. Grabbing the tissue from Weiss's hand, she laid it on top before closing the box. "The operation I had in Paris last month, at the hotel where I stayed, this bubble bath was in the room."

"And you wanted something to remember that op?" Weiss stood up and slid his hands in his pockets as Sydney hid the box in the bottom drawer of her desk. "Sydney, you were almost killed in Paris."

"I know," Sydney moved around him, grabbing the op file she'd been working on. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she forced a smile as she met his eyes. "That room, at that hotel... I can't explain, Weiss. It was a turning point for me."

Weiss studied her carefully, silent for a moment. "Well, you certainly deserve a little pampering. It's been a rough few weeks, with your Dad..."

"Yeah," Sydney said quickly, busying herself with the file folder.

"Hey," Weiss gently poked her shoulder. "Don't let the guy from this morning know you had it delivered here," he said, grinning. "He'll be heartbroken."

"I wasn't flirting with him," Sydney insisted, giving Weiss a good-natured shove. She met his eyes and smiled, drawing in a deep breath. "I need to go talk to Dixon about this report. I'll see you later, okay?"

"Take it easy, Syd."

On her way to Dixon's office, Sydney ducked into the washroom and quickly locked herself inside a stall. Opening the file folder, she shook loose the gift card she'd slipped within the pages when Weiss had turned his head.

Sydney held the card in her hand, the smell of lavender tickling her senses as the words written upon its smooth, white surface brought color to her cheeks.

_I can't stop thinking of this scent upon your skin._


	3. Chapter 3

The final package arrived at half-past seven.

The knock on the door startled Sydney as she sat on the couch, lost in thought while nursing a glass of pinot noir.

"Coming," she called, pushing herself up from the cushions after setting the wine on the coffee table. She entered the front hall and checked through the peephole before opening the door.

"Good evening, ma'am." A young, smiling man greeted her. "I have a delivery for you."

Sydney squeezed her eyes closed for a moment, drawing in a deep breath.

"Let me guess. A plain brown box?"

The courier shook his head. "No, ma'am," he extended his hand to her, revealing a white, business-sized envelope.

Sydney looked at it, then up at the young man's face. "Just the envelope?"

"Yes, ma'am," he nodded before extending his other hand, which held a blue computerized clipboard. "I'll need you to sign within the flashing white box, please."

Sydney accepted both the envelope and the slender yellow stylus and quickly scribbled her name.

"Thank you, ma'am," the courier tapped the LED screen twice with the stylus and then smiled up at Sydney. "You have a nice evening."

"Thanks," Sydney held the envelope against her body, the curious events of the day starting to overwhelm her. "You, too."

Back inside the apartment, Sydney carried her newest delivery to the couch and sat down, curling her legs beneath her. Inspecting the envelope, she saw that it bore no markings other than her name and address centered neatly on the front. After a gulp of wine, Sydney turned the envelope over in her hands and slipped a fingernail beneath the flap, slicing it open.

"Oh my god," Sydney muttered as an airline ticket dropped into her hand. She tossed the envelope aside and closely inspected the ticket. "First class, to Paris? At _what time_?" Her eyes darted to the clock across the room. The flight was in exactly two hours.

The ticket fluttered to the floor as Sydney's hands faltered, unable to hold on to paper that seemed, in that moment, inexplicably heavy. What was Sark thinking? It was the middle of the week. She couldn't just not show up at work the next day. Who did he think she worked for, anyway? If anyone found out...

It was then that she saw it, the small white business card laying next to the coffee table. It must have been tucked in between the ticket and airline information, unseen until the items had dropped to the rug at her feet. Bending forward, Sydney snatched the card from the floor. One side bore the name and address of the Paris hotel. On the other, handwritten words that caused her breath to catch in her throat.

_Don't think. Just come._

An hour and a half later, Sydney was waiting to board the plane, a cup of tea in one hand and a copy of the LA Times in the other. Her eyes skimmed the front page as she took a careful sip of the beverage, its heat slipping down her throat and soothing the nervousness that buzzed just beneath her calm surface.

She set the tea aside and turned the first page of the paper, searching for distraction. Sark's note had been explicit in its instruction, but Sydney was having trouble complying. Throughout her life she had been accused of thinking too much. It wasn't something she was able to turn off, no matter how much she tried.

Sydney was about to reach for her tea when her cell phone chirped, signaling an incoming call.

"Hello?"

"Sydney." It was Dixon. "I just got your message. Is everything all right? Are you all right?"

His affectionate, fatherly tone brought a smile to Sydney's lips. "I'm okay," she assured him. "I just need a few days, is all."

"I understand," Dixon said, his voice softening. "You've been through a lot the past couple of months."

"Yeah," Sydney agreed quietly, gazing out the large, plate glass window at airplanes on the tarmac.

"You can take all the time you need," Dixon told her. "You're not in the middle of anything that can't wait. Besides, it's more important to me that you're feeling okay."

"I appreciate that," she smiled again. "I'll have my cell phone, so..." Her voice trailed off. She swallowed, hard.

"If we hear from your father, I'll let you know immediately."

"Thank you, Marcus," Sydney forced the words past the lump in her throat, hot tears stinging her eyes. "I have to go."

"I know you do," Dixon sighed. "Take care, Syd."

Sydney couldn't speak. She disconnected the call and slipped the phone back into her pocket, pausing to collect herself. She started gathering her things as the gate agent's voice crackled on the loudspeaker, echoing through the terminal.

"Boarding has now begun for first class passengers on Oceanic flight 1247, nonstop to Paris."

Sydney slung her carry-on bag over her shoulder and didn't look back.


	4. Chapter 4

Sydney had seen many exotic locales in her life, but none of them compared to Paris at twilight. She breathed in the early evening air as she stood on the balcony of her room at the hotel, a stiff breeze tossing strands of her chestnut hair across her face.

The view hadn't changed in one month. Sydney smiled at the sight of the Eiffel Tower, the lights seeming to twinkle and shimmer against the deep purple sky. Hugging herself tightly, she rubbed her arms as a chill settled over her. It was beautiful but cold, and Sydney had endured it as long as she could. Turning to go back inside, she took one last look before closing the balcony doors.

Standing by the queen size bed, Sydney looked around the room, reacquainting herself with the rich decor. The lush carpet, modern yet sophisticated furnishings, a plush goose-down comforter over Egyptian cotton bed sheets and the softest pillows upon which Sydney had ever laid her head.

Sydney's favorite part of the room, however, wasn't in the room itself but through a set of double doors just beyond the quaint sitting area. She smiled to herself and walked around the bed, shedding her denim jacket and tossing it over a chair as she passed by. Reaching the doors, she grasped the brass lever handles and turned.

As she entered the bathroom, Sydney flipped on the light and smiled. Her eyes swept over every surface from the white marble floor to the white marble counter tops and finally stopping at the large tub in the corner, its ornate brass fixtures gleaming beneath the overhead lights.

Sydney walked slowly to the tub and trailed a finger along the porcelain rim, her hand stopping when she reached the decorative brass dish that held a clear plastic bottle filled with a pearlescent purple liquid. Curling her fingers around the bottle, Sydney read the label to herself before unscrewing the cap. The fragrance of lavender made her sigh contentedly. She returned the bottle to the dish and then reached for the spigots, turning them both until the water temperature was exactly as she wanted it.

Turning from the tub, Sydney began to undress, first kicking off her shoes and then unbuttoning her shirt. Sliding it from her shoulders, she turned and caught a glimpse of herself in the expansive mirror. Her eyes immediately went to the reflection of a scar, an unsightly white hash mark that crossed her right arm, following the curve of her shoulder. Sydney touched it briefly, her fingertips gentle on the tender skin as she met her own eyes in the mirror, losing herself in thought.

The sound of the water tumbling out of the spigot and splashing into itself brought her back around and she continued to undress, dropping her jeans where she stood and tossing aside her bra and panties. Stepping away from her clothes, Sydney grabbed the bubble bath and turned the bottle over beneath the spray of water, watching as the bubbles began to gather on the water's surface. Satisfied that she had more than enough, she stepped into the tub.

Sydney audibly sighed as she sank into the hot water, the bubbles cushioning and caressing her as she slid beneath the surface. She hadn't bothered tying back her hair; it floated away from her as rested her head against the edge of the tub, her body hidden by clouds of white, aromatic foam.

Sydney didn't know how long she rested there, her eyes closed, the silence a comfort to her. She ran the hot water at least twice more, warming the bath. After a time, she opened her eyes to see that most of the foam had disappeared and the water had a milky white slick upon its surface, the remnants of bubbles long ago dissolved.

While considering whether or not to get out of the bath, the decision was made for her as a loud knock sounded on the hotel room door. Sydney stood up quickly, pulled the plug from the drain and stepped out of the tub, reaching for one of the fluffy white bathrobes that hung nearby.

Sydney slipped into the warm robe and tied the sash as she made her way to the door, her bare feet silent on the plush rug. Reaching the door, she unlocked the deadbolt and opened it as far as the chain lock would allow.

Peeking around the door, Sydney smiled.

"Hi."

Julian Sark, dressed sharply in black, tilted his head to the side as his lips curled into a grin. "Hi," he said. In one hand he held a bottle of wine. The other hand gently cradled two wine glasses. "May I come in?"

Sydney nodded and closed the door so she could release the chain lock. Before doing so, she rested her forehead against the door, sighing deeply. She was suddenly feeling very unsure of herself, of him, of everything.

A gentle tapping brought her to her senses and she quickly unlocked and reopened the door. "Sorry," she smiled again, swallowing against the tightness in her throat as she stepped aside to let him in.

Sark slowly entered, his ethereal blue eyes soaking in the sight of her before he turned and walked across the room. He stopped at the small table by the bed and set down the wine and glasses as Sydney closed the door and crossed the room to the balcony doors.

"I trust you like the room," Sark spoke, slipping his hands into his pockets.

"It's gorgeous," Sydney said, turning from the windows. She took a deep breath, let it out. "Sark, thank you for the gifts. The bath salts, the plane ticket, this room," she paused, searching his face. "You didn't have to go to all of this trouble. It certainly wasn't part of the bargain."

Sark's brow furrowed. "Bargain?" He frowned, taking steps toward her. "This doesn't have anything to do with our bargain."

Sydney swallowed hard. "I have information for you," she said. "And I was hoping... " Her voice wavered. "I was hoping you'd know something about my Dad."

Sark came to her side, a hand extended to her. She looked at it, at him, blinking fast as hot tears stung her eyes.

"I'm waiting to hear from a contact of mine," Sark said, watching her carefully. "I know how important it is to you to find your father," he slipped his hand into hers. "But we both know that's not why you've come."

Sydney tried to turn away from him, using her free hand to pull back the curtain on the French doors. Her eyes scanned the Paris skyline as her mind tumbled through what was right, what was wrong, what felt right and ultimately what could not be denied.

Sark edged closer to her, his body against hers. When he spoke, she could smell peppermint on his breath.

"I think of what happened between us as a happy accident," he brought a hand to her cheek, turned her face to his own. "Sydney, love, I'd like to believe you think of it that way, too."

Sydney sighed as a tear escaped, slipping down her cheek. It was a relief to her when Sark kissed her, their lips meeting with sudden urgency. Her hands could not remain idle; she slipped one around his body and nestled the other in the hair at the back of his head, her fingertips resting among his unruly curls.

Breathless as they parted, Sark smiled. "How long do we have?" He asked, reaching for her, pulling her closer.

Sydney grasped the lapels of his suit coat. "A couple of days," she replied, easing the garment off of his shoulders.

"Well, then," Sark kissed her again. "We shouldn't waste a moment," his lips moved along her jaw, down her neck and then across her collar bone as he slipped a hand under her robe, exposing her bare shoulder. He inhaled deeply, a low moan in his throat. "Oh, how I have missed the fragrance of your skin."


	5. Chapter 5

The package arrived at a quarter past eight.

The knock on the door startled Weiss out of a deep sleep. He sat up abruptly, surprised to find that he had slept on the couch, the remote still clutched tightly in his left hand. Glancing around at the daylight that flooded his apartment, he blinked hard and attempted to make sense of things.

The knock sounded again, loudly.

"Okay, all right," Weiss groaned, hauling himself up from the cushions, his body creaking in protest. He rubbed his back as he made his way slowly to the door, tossing the remote onto the kitchen counter as he passed by.

Opening the door, Weiss squinted at the bright sunlight.

"Hey, buddy, did I wake ya?" A delivery guy who looked vaguely familiar gave Weiss the once over. "Sorry 'bout that."

"No problem," Weiss shook his head. "Can I help you?"

"I got a delivery here," the driver checked the front of the overnight envelope. "Eric Weiss?"

"That's me," Weiss took the envelope and glanced at it. "France?"

"Must be important," the driver smiled, a wad of gum visible just inside his cheek. "You some kinda big shot?"

Weiss shrugged. "Hardly," he admitted. "Do I need to sign for this?"

"Oh, yeah," the delivery guy handed him a clipboard and a pen. "Line sixteen, pal."

Weiss quickly scrawled his name and then turned his attention back to the envelope, already wondering if he should wait to open it until he got to work so Marshall could check it out.

"Hmm," the driver studied the clipboard. "Eric Weiss. Did you know that was Houdini's real name?"

Weiss looked up, seemingly surprised that the driver was still standing there.

"So I've been told," he nodded. "Hey, uhm, thanks a lot, okay?" He turned to go back inside.

"Hey, no problem there," the delivery guy gave him a friendly wave. "Have a good day."

"You, too," Weiss called, waiting until the driver was almost back to his truck before he closed the door. He frowned as he studied the envelope, wondering who he knew in France.

Carrying it into the kitchen, he allowed curiosity to get the best of him and pulled the tab at the envelope flap. Once it was open, he cautiously reached inside and pulled out a folded sheet of blue stationery. After pulling out one of his kitchen stools, Weiss tossed aside the envelope and unfolded the letter. He couldn't help but chuckle out loud as he read.

_Dear Eric,_

_I'm sure by now Dixon has told you that I'm taking some time off. I know you're probably wondering where I am and if I'm okay. I also know that even if I tell you I'm fine, you worry about me anyway. That's one of the things I love about you._

_You've been so great to me over the last few weeks. You knew I was having a rough time and you did all you could to make it easier. I appreciate that. You've been looking out for me, and as much as I needed it then, I don't need it now._

_Don't misunderstand; I'm grateful for everything you've done. I just need you to know, now, that I'm doing fine and there is nothing more you need to do for me. I'm going to be all right._

_I don't know exactly when I'll be back. Until I am, please keep an eye on my apartment, and yes, you can help yourself to the beer in my refrigerator. _

_Warmly,_

_Sydney_

_P.S. You were so flirting with the delivery guy._


	6. Chapter 6

Sark rolled over and buried his face into the soft pillow, squeezing his eyes closed against the sunlight that streamed in through the windows. Sydney had parted the curtains at sunrise, and ever since then Sark had been fighting the daylight as it marched across the room.

Rolling over yet again, Sark heard the sound of running water coming from the bathroom. Sydney had been in the tub for a while now, and he had resisted the allure of it for just as long. Grinning, he kicked back the covers, extricating himself from the bed sheets.

At the sound of bare feet on the marble tile, Sydney opened her eyes, her head tilted back against the rim of the tub.

"Good morning," she smiled, turning off the spigot after warming the water. "Did you finally get tired of sleeping?"

"No," Sark smiled, running a hand through his hair. "But the thought of you in the bath was keeping me awake," he moved closer to the tub. "Mind if I join you?"

Sydney grinned and sat up, scooting toward the center of the tub. Sark carefully slipped in behind her, and once he was settled, the water lapping at their shoulders, Sydney rested against him.

They were silent for a time before Sydney slipped her fingers into Sark's hand.

"Did I ever thank you?" She asked quietly. "For saving my life?"

Sark lifted her hand out of the water and entwined his fingers with hers. "When? A month ago, or now?"

Sydney didn't answer, smiling against the moisture that sprang to her eyes. Sark leaned in and placed his lips against her neck, kissing her softly.

His breath was warm on her ear. "How much time do we have?"

Sydney turned to look into his eyes. "As much as we need."

THE END


End file.
